and he only wished he could be there to reassure her. But that was his life. That was his solitary life, and she was better out of it.
He called her again.
No reply.
So it was true. She wasn’t going crazy, Stacey reflected as she left the walk-in clinic with a sheaf of leaflets advising on pregnancy and what to expect. Just as she’d suspected, the feeling inside her was a miraculous spark of new life. She was jubilant and terrified, as well as full of determination and purpose, all at once. Jubilant because it was a miracle she embraced with all her heart, and terrified because she didn’t exactly have a pattern to follow, or a guidebook to help her, let alone a mother to advise and promise that it didn’t have to be like the childhood Stacey remembered, full of mental anguish and regret. It could be a happy time. It would be a happy time, she determined as she pulled out her phone to call Lucas. Their child would be happy. She’d give her life to that cause.
No way!
Her phone was flat!
She’d been rather too busy over the past twenty-four hours to think about charging her phone. Exhaling noisily with frustration, she determined to call him as soon as she arrived at the hotel.
But as she crunched across the snow-covered pavement, the panic to call him subsided. Part of her wanted to tell him right away, while another part wanted to keep the news in a tight little kernel in her chest just a little while longer. Sharing things at home in the past had always got her shot down in flames. She knew Luc was a very different man from her father, but the past was a powerful enemy.
And she was stronger. Mothers had to be the strongest of all.
Once she had charged up her phone, she resolved to call him.
‘He’s been called away?’ she repeated, bewildered, once she got through.
Luc’s phone was on call divert and she was speaking to one of his PAs. The woman was to the point, rather than sympathetic. ‘I’m afraid I can’t give you any more information, but I will pass on the message that you called.’
‘Thank y—’
The line was already dead.
You’ve never had any hand-holding, so why do you need it now?
Correct. She’d got this.
Those were Stacey’s exact thoughts two days later as she stared into the mirror before heading off to the Da Silva party, where, regardless of how she felt inside, she couldn’t wait to showcase the talents of her team. The thought of seeing Luc again was a constant thrum of excitement that she was fully aware would play in the background of everything she did that night. She’d deal with that too.
This particular event was difficult to dress for, as there were so many elements to the night. First there would be a champagne reception, followed by a traditional banquet with dancing and an auction afterwards at the hotel in the village. Then a trip up the mountain to the balcony of Luc’s chalet, which was the ideal vantage point for a firework display, and then later the famous torchlit procession of the most expert skiers in the area, who would descend a mountain floodlit by snow tractors. Thermals beneath a ball gown were a sensible precaution to cater for everything the weather could throw at her, and she had snow boots at the ready.
Luc had arranged an ingenious mode of transport to get guests up the mountain after the main party in the hotel. They made a great team, she mused as she checked her make-up in the mirror. Or might have done, if he’d troubled to speak to her. Everything was being conducted through their teams, so Luc had obviously made his decision regarding any possible future for them. If he had got in touch she could have told him the happy truth. Perhaps it was as well they kept things this way, though she couldn’t deny his behaviour surprised her. Luc wasn’t the type to turn his back on anything, but he had, and of all things, on the possibility of becoming a father. She didn’t know whether to pity him for being more damaged than she’d thought, or whether she should regard herself as just another of his discards. Either way, it hurt. Once this party wrapped they wouldn’t be part of each other’s lives. Their amazing fling was over. There was no way anything could happen between them in the real world, their paths were too different, as were their dreams.
So…?
Swinging a lanyard around her neck, she blinked back tears. So, go, team! Go, Stacey! Make this the best party ever, adding another brick in the foundations you’re building for your child.
His first sight of Stacey sucked the air from his lungs. The gown she’d chosen to wear was a deep shade of blue that contrasted beautifully with her rich auburn hair and Celtic colouring. She was wearing her hair up tonight, displaying those incredible cheekbones and her lush, generous mouth. She was easily the most attractive woman at the party, and it took an effort to drag his gaze away to concentrate on his guests.
This was quite literally an evening for the great and good. Some of the guests were undeniably pompous, and some were snobs he could have done without, but the various charities he supported needed their money. There were those who were fabulously rich and correspondingly stupid, and he could never understand how they held onto their wealth. He had also invited members of his staff from across the world, pearls beyond price without whom nothing would get done, as well as representatives from each of the charities.
And then there was Stacey.
His gaze kept stealing back to her, and each time he looked her way she was being equally gracious to everyone. Whether she was greeting a member of the aristocracy, one of the many ambassadors he’d invited, a group of cleaners from his London office, or a head of government, she behaved with the same gentle charm. His only regret was that her brother couldn’t be here tonight to see her as he was seeing her, but Niahl was with the team playing polo. He hadn’t told Niahl how far his relationship with his sister had progressed, but they knew each other too well for Niahl not to notice how many times Stacey had cropped up in conversation. ‘Take care of her,’ Niahl had said. ‘That’s all I ask. Above anyone I know my sister deserves to be happy.’ A spear of regret hit him at the thought that he had pretty much allowed this unique woman to slip through his fingers without even putting up a fight. He’d allowed business to take precedence over Stacey, and even the possibility of a child.
One day he would have to confront his feelings, and could only pray that by the time he got around to doing so, it wouldn’t be too late.
He watched her deal with more difficult guests, and felt anger on her behalf that she turned herself inside out for everyone, but who cared for Stacey? Who massaged her shoulders after an evening like this when she was exhausted? Who would kiss the nape of her neck, fix her a drink and bank up the fire to keep her warm?
‘Señor Da Silva!’
He wheeled around to face an elderly Spanish duke.
‘What a pleasure! What a party! You have quite a find in Señorita Winner. I’d hold onto her if I were you.’
‘Don Alejandro,’ he said, smiling warmly as he gripped his compatriot’s
